


it's the god that heroin prays to

by raindropwaltz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood Kink, F/M, Worship, and honestly i need any excuse to have hux worship rey, listen i have no reason for this other than we need more reyux, minor d/s vibes, so here is that, this is basically yet another of my 'love letters from hux to rey who terrifies and arouses him'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raindropwaltz/pseuds/raindropwaltz
Summary: he brings sacrifice and rage to her bloody altar, begging to be favoredand she--she, with heavy heart and burning core and knowing eyes--she returns to let him worship, time and again





	it's the god that heroin prays to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feckyeswriting (firelord65)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/gifts).



she comes to him fresh from a fight.

 

there is a message for him while he looks over holos and records information at his desk, and no sooner has he received it does his door open, and there she stands, softly illuminated by the low lighting of his room.

he can see her, standing there in half-shadow, watching him as smoke rises from his newly-lit cig and the light from his holos ripples and shifts over his pale skin. she lays in wait like a loth wolf, waiting for the right moment, the time to pounce. she steps further into the room, and her gold-green eyes _glimmer_.

this is a game they play, as she stalks into the room, advancing like a predator. he can smell her—smoke and heat and sweat, but he knows why she is here, why she always comes here in this way. he smells it as she gets closer, as if it slithers to him on the air like his cig smoke.  
hux turns to face her, reclining in his chair, cig still held lazily in one hand, in a display of ease that he does not truly feel.

 

she is something from his nightmares as she stands over him, silhouetted by the pale, soft glow of his floor lights. her clothing is _sticking_ ; there is blood so thick upon her that, mixed with what seems like soot, her golden skin is turned black in some places. it smears her face, dark making the bright in her eyes even brighter.  
a streak across her cheek to her chin. a slick of it down the side of her face, trickling over her throat. her hips swing as she takes the last few steps between his legs to his chair in such a way that she seems still drunk from the fight she has come from, though her eyes gleam with a preternatural sense of _awareness_ that makes him shudder. she slides a knee onto the chair between his thighs and there is a _smear_.

he doesn’t move, eyes drinking her in: normally loose clothing clinging to her body, hair hanging around her shoulders and trailing locks of bronze into where red pools at her collar, her posture languorous and fluid.  
she gazes down at him and he wants to touch her more than he wants to draw breath but he will not, _cannot_ , not yet.

 

“general hux,” she says, low and quiet. he tilts his chin up slightly in response, and she slides onto the chair with him, legs wet and sticking as they straddle him. there is hunger in her eyes, and he feels a shiver run up his spine, his mouth going dry at the weight of her on him, chest thrust slightly forward as her arms hang at her sides and trail her fingertips over his thighs. she pins him in this way, a predator eyeing her prey, and he smells the blood and smoke and sweat on her from the battle she has been in—the battle she has _won_ —and he knows she comes now to conquer him again, just as she does each time, victory after victory.

“were you hurt?” he asks, low and soft. her eyes meet his and there is meaning.

“no.” _this blood is not mine, this blood is the gown of victory and rage that my enemies have garbed me in, thread by taken thread.  
_ she leans in near his face, never moving her arms, blood dripping onto his pristine dark uniform.

“you’re filthy,” he tells her in a low murmur, never moving closer, letting her nose nearly brush his cheek as if she is seeking a kiss. “soiling my uniform...look at all of this.” he doesn’t have to turn his head to glimpse the smirk on her bloodied lips.

by the time she leans back it is gone, and she’s sliding back off of his lap, her knee grazing the trouser seam over his crotch. her eyes never leave  his, but her mouth betrays a ghost of a smile, anticipating.

“general,” rey’s lips curve up slightly, her gaze dangerous as it lifts from her disgusting attire up to his eyes, “please?”

  
  


his cig is balanced, still smoldering, on a small ashtray on his desk. his gloves remain on. she stays unmoving, a blood soaked statue under his precise hands. her layers are stripped away one by one, drenched and falling to the ground in a soaked heap as he seeks out her bare skin.

he perches on the edge of his chair and she lifts one boot and then the other for him to unfasten and slide off of her feet, fingertips trailing down her calves as they go. her leggings come next, peeling away down her slender legs and leaving trails of smeared blood over freckled skin—and finally when she is in nothing more than her thin, plain panties, he tilts his head back, leather gloved hands hovering over her hips.

she is _monstrous_ , soaked in blood and grime and ash, green-gold eyes glowing in her filthy face as she gazes down at him, once again backlit by a pale, soft white glow, like some gentle crown of light to contrast the ruin and death on her skin and the ancient, unfathomable power that lies beneath it.  
she is a goddess, this woman, _his rey_ ; a glorious deity of blood and flesh and _magic_ , and he gazes up at her an acolyte willing to be brought low just for the chance to worship her. he knows what she demands of her devotees, what to bring to the altar of her flesh.

“let me touch you,” he begs hoarsely, and she, gentle and merciful to those who earn her favor, allows it.

  


her panties slide down her hips, baring wet curls to him and making him shiver at the smell of blood and arousal.  
his gloves meet her skin and draw her to him, onto him again, hands supporting her back. there is blood everywhere, smearing under his fingers, over his pants, and he gazes up at her adoringly, smelling blood so strong he can taste it, starving for her.

“beautiful,” he gasps when she reaches for his face, trailing blood over the pale, clean skin of his cheeks. she marks him with the stolen blood of her enemies and lays her _claim_ on him.  
rey, his bloody empress, his merciful goddess—he is _hers._

_“_ they’re dead,” she growls, shifting her hips against him, cradling his face and watching the desire blooming in his eyes.

“let me taste,” he breathes imploringly, turning his head towards her fingers, taking them into his mouth one by one and relishing the taste of metal and salt and victory on his tongue. he would clean every inch of her this way if she gave the word, but right now she wants something else.

 

her fingers leave his lips to find the fastenings of his pants, and quickly she frees his straining cock from its hold. he leaks onto her fingers in earnest and she wastes no time, leaning up on her knees, letting him take one of her taut nipples into his mouth. his tongue laves at her as he sucks more of her skin in, feeling her slicking his cock between her soaked folds and rutting against the head of him even as she holds him in her hand. he groans around her breast and she shifts her hips forward, pressing him into her cunt and hilting him when she settles back onto his thighs.

she groans, high and breathy, letting her head loll back as she drinks in the feeling of him; and he can _feel_ it, how utterly _delighted_ she is, how much she savors the full feeling and the heat and the blood—strange, wild force-child, terrifying and divine creature who can work this magic on him. his hands clutch at her back and he bites into her breast, making her cry out and reach for his face again.  
she lifts his head so he can meet her gaze, heated and breathing hard.

“fuck me,” she commands, breathless and desperate, “ _fuck me, armitage,_ ” and he, blissful and desiring, complies.  


 

his thrusts are punishing; he slams his cock into her until he is aching from it and so is she, her thighs trembling and her pussy clenching around his cock tighter with each snap of his hips.

“tell me i am yours,” he pleads against her neck and grasps at her hips and her hair, vicious in his need to hear the words spill from her lips.

“ _mine,_ ” rey gasps, rolling her hips against his and gripping his short hair, “you belong to _me,_ general.” he moans against her throat as he comes, hearing her claim, ramming into her so hard she cries out and then seating himself there, spilling into her with a wanton groan.

rey _whines_ , feeling him still buried deep and filling her with that living heat, though she’s yet to reach her own climax. he knows, tilts his head to lick blood from her jaw and neck, thrusts shallow into her pussy and reaches to rub her aching clit with a leather-covered thumb.

“make me come,” she orders him, gasping for breath, “make me come on your cock, i want to feel my cunt ache and think of _you_ ,” hux shudders and jerks into her, fingers pressing into her back enough to bruise.

“let me give you what you want,” he hisses, “let me ruin you as you have _ruined_ me,” rey whimpers, grinding against him, hips bucking when she rubs that sweet spot against him. his thumb leaves her clit to grasp at her hip, clutching her to him.

“there,” she gasps, “there, fuck, _please—“_ and oh, this he can give to her.

when she comes, she is undone—her back arches and her thighs clench around his, her fingers grasping at the back of his uniform—and she is _radiant_ , gushing around his cock and soaking him in cum and blood. she shudders with the aftershocks of her orgasm, cunt milking his cock hungrily as she comes down from her euphoria.

  
  


hux’s fingers are tangled in her hair and his mouth is on her throat, marking her skin with his teeth, desperate to leave note of his worship, to remind her with ache and bruise and blood that he belongs to her, to leave offering of his devotion that is more intimate than material goods.

she curves her arms around his head and strokes his hair when she is finding coherence again, fingers threading through his mussed ginger hair. benevolent creature—he has watched her cut down man and droid, watched her lay waste to entire troops with only a sword and her bare hands: the same hands that now stroke him as as lover, that offer sweet comfort and possession in a way armitage hux has never known.

she wears the scent of blood and sex and smoke on her skin like the finest perfume, and when he buries his face into her shoulder he wants to carry it with him in her wake. rey’s fingers rub patterns into his scalp and he can hear the smile in her voice as he holds her and she leans away, tipping his head up so she can meet his gaze, smearing the blood and grime on his face with adoring hands.  
there is blood from her skin on his cheeks, nose, chin—a swipe across his forehead, and rey smiles, pleased with the sight of it.

“will you think of me, later?” she asks, carelessly playful. she knows what is in his head, knows the answers she chases after already.

“until i have you again,” his gloved fingers press into her back, possessive and already aching from the loss of her. she smirks—lips quirking and eyes glittering in the low light as she gazes down at him.

“you’ve been trying so often recently,” she murmurs, “do you miss me, general?” he grips her torso, tone ferocious.

“ _yes._ ” he bites out, craning his head to reach hers, hands dragging her down to him. “i won’t stop,” he promises her, fingers finding her hair again, “not until you have only me to return to.”

 

rey’s lips meet his and she tastes blood, blood, salt and fury and covetous desire that makes her shiver and jolt, his cock still buried in her leaking pussy. she knows what is in his mind, she knows what is in his heart as she feels him harden inside her again and thrust rough and shallow into her. it hurts; she’s still tender from their first round and the friction has her mewling and whimpering against his mouth, struggling to breathe when she feels full, feels their cum seep out of her with every pump, his cock deep and seeming to press deeper with each stroke.

“a-armitage…” she whines, holding him tight, pulling his hair and moaning as she feels new pressure coiling in her belly.

“i’ll bathe you in blood,” he vows as he fucks her, “let you watch all of this burn at your feet,” rey believes him, knows he means every word. “let every one of them you strike down be a sacrifice to you from me,” she’s so close, somehow aroused by his words, his voice, his possessive hands, “every death will remind you of my love.”

rey _sobs_ as she comes again, clinging to hux and snapping her hips against his cock, her orgasm abrupt and torn from her by his declaration. he buries his face into her hair and continues to ram up into her. later, when she has run back to her dwindling forces on their crumbling base, when she returns to her _resistance_ , she will feel the ache and sting in her tender core and remember him, remember _this_ , and he knows his offering will have been good.

 

 

“rey,” he growls against her skull, needing and adoring and angry, “ _tell me i am yours.”_

“you are mine,” she whimpers sadly, tears pricking her eyes as he spills into her anew and she shivers around him, letting him hold her, and knowing there will not be an end to this, not yet. “my furious warlord, you belong to me.”


End file.
